Eagle's Prey
by Celena Schezar
Summary: Altaїr stalks his prey in the rain.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything nor am making money, just using Altaїr for a bit of fun. Altaїr and all things _Assassin's Creed_ belong to all those other people that aren't me that have copyrights and all that junk.

**Eagle's Prey**

By Celena Schezar

The day was cold and wet. It had been unusually rainy for the past few days in the town of Jerusalem and today was no exception. The streets were muddy and pools of water gathered everywhere it felt the desire. The brown, dusty buildings appeared darker than usual, but definitely comfortable compared to the alternative.

Altaïr did not have the luxury of staying home in bed this day though. His only comfort against the stormy weather was that his prey also did not have the luxury on this day.

The white robed Assassin kept to the rooftops on a day like today. There were hardly any people on the streets below and he would only be that much more easy to spot. Besides, most of the scholars his robes were meant to mimic did not travel on the likes of such a day.

The rain hit him full force in the face as the wind slanted the water in its fall. He pulled his hood further down over his head and hunched his shoulders against the awful weather. A thought occurred to him briefly that he would have to take extra care in cleaning his blades later in the evening due to the added threat of corrosion from the water.

Altaïr's destination was in the middle district of Jerusalem this day. There his target would be handling a task that was vitally important to the Templar cause, especially now that their high-ranking numbers were lacking. Their leadership was badly hindered thanks to Altaïr's work in the months previous, and the master assassin had decided a month ago to keep it that way. Despite the Hasshasshin's own damaged brotherhood at the moment.

Information gathering the day before had been hard pressed for the Assassin. With the rain sweeping across the muddy streets, no one was in the mood to share their knowledge. This led to a few more tough interrogations than normal, but still little of use could be found. There just was not enough going on during the rain.

Still, Altaïr was positive that his prey would be here today. And he was fairly certain of the place to find him, too.

Altaïr approached his final destination with caution. The Templars were on high alert, as they had been for the past few months after so many hard blows to their order. The rooftops held many an archer, confirming his belief in his knowledge of the high-ranking Templar's presence on this rainy day.

Altaïr crept up to the nearest rooftop guard and wrapped his hand around the man's mouth. Before the guard had time to object, the Assassin's blade was piercing the back of his neck in an instantaneously fatal wound. Altaïr lowered the guard's body slowly to the ground. An untold number of other archer's fell in a similar fashion all within a matter of minutes.

The preparation was complete. Now all Altaïr had to wait for was sign of his true prey.

So he waited in the drenching downpour of chilly rain. He was perched quite comfortably on a high point of view not too far from his target's interest. It would have been comfortable that is to say if it had not been for the unhappy weather.

There he was. Suddenly, almost without warning, Altaïr's prey walked onto the scene. He was accompanied by an unsightly amount of guards. Altaïr grunted in annoyance; he'd have to take them out one way or another in order to deal with his real target.

The Assassin searched the ground for the safe landing area he had staked out earlier and frowned when he saw that a guard had lately decided to take residence nearby. Altaïr fingered a throwing knife from one of his pouches and made the leap of faith with it safely tucked into his palm. Before he got out of the haystack Altaïr threw the dagger and watched the guard silently drop.

He did not have much time now. The other guards would be alerted to his presence soon.

Quickly hopping out of the hay, Altaïr shivered as the wet and smelly substance tickled his skin. It would not come off with a simple shake either and this he found annoying and distracting. He moved rapidly now though nevertheless.

The white-robed merchant of death made his way quickly around the area and silently positioned himself behind the large mass of guards. He hid in the shadows while he waited for the opportune moment.

It came—Altaїr struck.

Lightning-quick two daggers pierced the air and took out the two nearest guards by his prey. As their bodies fell the Assassin's running footsteps echoed eerily in the courtyard in slow motion it seemed. Before the target could completely turn and assess the situation, much less draw his weapon, Altaïr was upon him, hidden blade in his throat.

The deed was done. There was one less Templar in the world. The Assassins still had the upper hand.

Altaïr stood and drew his sword. The guards had been stunned by this attack on their new-found leader, and his sudden death was so rapid they could hardly react. Altaïr's blade came down on a hapless guard and his dying scream finally galvanized the others into action.

A fierce battle broke out. The Assaissin, quick and precise, seemed instantly to have the advantage. He pressed forward relentlessly. Still, he had to give the guards credit where due; they did not turn and flee even as many of their number fell. They were enraged; he could understand that.

But they simply stood no chance. Altaïr dodged and parried, quick-stepped and broke their guard, hit high and low, hard and quick. Their numbers dwindled quickly, and soon Altaïr had to search to find more prey.

With the true fight over, the Assassin decided to flee the scene. He leapt towards the nearest cracked wall and proceeded to climb up it with a matter of practiced ease. He ran across rooftops in a darting manner, this way and that, in order to confuse his pursuers. Once he had lost sight of them, he hid in a secluded rooftop garden. The areas were curtained from view, and Altaïr placed a well made cloth over himself for further camouflage in the event a guard actually thought to peek inside.

A few hours passed before the Assassin climbed out of his hiding spot. He had almost fallen a sleep more than once, but had managed to shake it off each time. Now he moved his limbs around stiffly, working out the kinks that had amassed from lying perfectly still for so long.

Altaïr stopped moving and his eyes scanned the rooftops. His neck craned upwards to peer curiously at the sky. The rain had stopped. The clouds were just starting to part. Soon maybe the sun would come out.

But for now the city remained drenched, drowning in a pool of undesired water. Altaïr began to head home, to the local Assassin's Bureau, where he could sleep the day off and return to Masyaf in the morning.

The blood from his opponents was mostly washed off from the previous rain, but some of it dried into darkened blotches. He wondered if the dark spots were match enough to blend in with the muddy stains from the day's wear. Perhaps if the residents decided to come outside in a bit, Altaïr would return to the streets. Perhaps not. It was just so much simpler to travel up here, above the common folk.


End file.
